


Show Me A True Man

by awkwardgturtle



Series: Truman Show 'Verse [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fake Character Death, M/M, The Truman Show AU, nothing is real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3730834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardgturtle/pseuds/awkwardgturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete lives a perfect life with a perfect house, a perfect husband and a perfect job, but what he doesn't know is that his whole life is actually a beloved TV show about him. It's only when he starts to notice something's wrong that his whole life comes crashing down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me A True Man

Pete starts his day like he would every other: fumbling his way through a shower, getting dressed, brushing his teeth, then wasting a good hour fixing his hair in front of the mirror until his husband yells up the stairs that he’s “going to be late again, Pete! I swear if you get fired, I’m not supporting your deadbeat ass!”

Pete glides down the stairs, tie hanging loosely around his neck as he slips into the kitchen and behind Patrick to kiss the back of his neck. “You love my ass, deadbeat or not.”

Patrick turns a mock glare on him. “Your ass better be sitting at the table in ten seconds or you’re not getting breakfast.”

“You made me breakfast?” Pete asks cheerily as he sits down at the table, then makes a face. “It’s not poisoned, is it?”

“Yes,” Patrick deadpans, setting a plateful of pancakes in front of him. “This one and the rest of the breakfasts I’ve made you for the last four years. All poisoned.”

Pete makes a victorious noise and stabs his fork at Patrick. “I knew it! You’re just some sexy siren made to seduce me and lead me to my inevitable doom!” Patrick snorts and rolls his eyes, joining his husband at the table. “Besides,” Pete continues, “the real Patrick would know that we’ve been married almost five years.”

“Almost,” Patrick emphasizes. “But maybe I’ve only been a siren for four of them.”

Pete nods his approval as he pops a forkful of breakfast into his mouth. “Well played, well played. I’d demand that you bring my Patrick back, but you’re good enough in bed that I think I’ll let it slide.”

“Well thank god for that,” Patrick says, smirking over his glass of orange juice. “I’d hate to be sent away before my nefarious plot to gradually kill you is complete.”

Pete polishes off his plate and waves his fork in Patrick’s direction once again. “You know what I think? I think that if you wanted me dead, I’d probably be dead by now.”

“Long dead,” Patrick confirms with concerning sincerity. “I would’ve made it look like an accident, too.”

“Wow, baby. Good to know,” Pete chuckles uneasily as he cleans up his place. “I’m just going to go to work now, and hide all of the knives when I get back.”

Patrick rolls his eyes, but he stands up to receive a goodbye kiss before crossing the kitchen to load the dishwasher. “Have a good day at work, and don’t forget I have a set at the dive on Main Street tonight.”

“When have I ever missed one of your shows?” Pete scoffs as he shrugs on his coat. Patrick lifts a hand to start ticking off fingers, but Pete’s already halfway out the door. “Bye, baby! See you tonight!”

Patrick waves him off as the door closes and Pete strolls sunnily toward his car.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Work is, as always, a trial to get through, with people hustling in and out of Pete’s office, stacking paperwork on top of the piles of paperwork so high that he’s sure he’s never seen what’s on the bottom. It’s probably long overdue anyway.

Pete stares longingly out the window, lost in thought for the hundredth time this week. He should have listened to Patrick when he told him to pick a job he loved, but as it turns out, law school is about twice as fun as practicing actual law, and that’s not saying much about law school.

“Daydreaming again, Boss?”

Pete looks up from his forlorn gazing to find his intern, Brendon, leaning against the doorjamb to his office and smiles. “I wouldn’t if we started getting any decent trials around here. I’m seriously thinking of moving to the city just to get some action.”

“Didn’t you have that domestic dispute trial yesterday?” he points out, waving at the paperwork.

“That wasn’t a domestic dispute, Brendon,” Pete sighs, “that was a minor lover’s spat. Seriously, Patrick and I have those every day and we don’t take it to court.”

“Well, people around here probably aren’t as used to it as you are,” Brendon says with a chuckle. “Seriously, you two are the most dysfunctional function I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s us, though.”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Brendon agrees. “I should leave you with that paperwork.”

Pete scowls at the pile. “I should make you do it.”

“I’m not paid nearly enough for that.”

“And I’m being paid too much for it.”

Brendon shrugs. “But that’s what you get for being boss, Boss.” He finally stops leaning in the doorway and says, “I’m going to get back to work. Good luck.”

Pete watches him leave, dropping his head in his hands as soon as he’s out of sight. He lets out a long sigh before straightening in his chair and sliding the first paper from the top of the pile.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

By the time Pete gets to the bar, Patrick’s almost finished setting up for his show. He grins when he turns and sees Pete from across the bar. “You made it,” he calls as Pete wanders toward the stage.

“Yeah, I managed to bribe Brendon to do the last of the paperwork from yesterday’s trial,” Pete says, beaming proudly. “I swear, no one ever mentions the paperwork in law school.”

“If they did, no one would ever want to be a lawyer,” Patrick teases, sitting on the edge of the stage. “Besides, they have to keep you busy somehow.”

“They?” Pete snorts. “Who, the firm? They’d probably keep me busier by getting the politicians to make up dumb laws so more people end up in court.” Patrick shrugs, starting to look vaguely uncomfortable with the subject, so Pete wiggles in between his legs and leans in for a kiss. “Do we have time before your set?”

Patrick hums against his lips, mouth curling up ever so slightly. “Not enough for what you’re thinking.”

Pete sighs in mock disappointment. “A shame. Next time?”

“No,” Patrick says in a tone that he knows means ‘maybe.’ “Go get yourself a drink or something. I have to check on some things before I go on.”

Pete leans in again, sighing into the soft give of his husband’s lips as his hands wander over his jaw and hip. It’s something he’ll never tire of, the way Patrick’s skin feels under his hands and the way he pushes into every small touch like he craves it as much as Pete does. “Knock ‘em out, baby,” he murmurs into the corner of Patrick’s mouth, though he knows the words are unneeded.

Every time Patrick steps onto the stage, he immediately owns the room. The way he plants his feet makes him look twice as tall as he is, his stature commanding his audience, his voice demanding to be heard, all combined with the confident movements of his fingers over the neck of his guitar… It’s no wonder that Pete is always hard and panting by the end of each set and climbing all over Patrick the moment he has the chance. It makes him wonder what it would be like to be up there with him, able to press his lips to his sweat-slick neck, to breathe in that confidence, to feel the power of his voice in his throat. Pete chuckles to himself as he shakes off the image. They’d never get through a set without fucking, he bets.

As expected, Patrick blows the place away with his performance and fills his tip jar to the brim before he’s through. Pete sneaks backstage to intercept him on his way off the stage and latches onto him, kissing the salty sweat off his jaw. “You were perfect,” he mumbles into Patrick’s skin. “Every day you’re so perfect and you still don’t believe me.”

Patrick’s breath stutters when Pete shoves him into the greenroom wall. “I screwed up that second song,” he protests half-heartedly.

“And no-one even knew,” Pete insists, yanking at his shirt, “because you were perfect.”

“I’m not…”

“You are,” he interrupts, sinking to his knees. “Gonna prove it.”

Patrick’s next protest is cut off by a gasp when Pete starts fumbling with his pants. He curses his eager, clumsy fingers when he can’t quite get the button open. “Stupid tight jeans,” Pete mutters. “Making me sexually frustrated and then not coming off when I need them to.”

“God damn it, just let me do it,” Patrick pants, reaching down and doing away with his jeans much faster than Pete thinks is human. “There. Now get proving.”

“Perfect,” Pete says again before taking Patrick into his mouth, slowly sinking down as far as he can just to hear that pleasured groan that sends a spark down his spine every time. Somehow, Pete constantly forgets just how big his husband feels in his mouth. He fancies himself to have a big mouth and a tame gag reflex, but Patrick is always there, thick and hot and knocking the back of his throat before he expects it, making his eyes water as he tries to force down a choke.

“Fuck,” Patrick says breathlessly above him. A quick upward glance lets Pete see a new sheen of sweat that isn’t from the show. “Pete, come on.”

Pete pulls back enough to make an acknowledging noise, then proceeds to find that rhythm he knows gets Patrick off quick. A fumbling hand tangles in his hair as he does, desperate noises telling him that he’s on the right track. It isn’t long before Patrick comes down his throat with not nearly enough warning, causing Pete to fall back into a coughing fit as Patrick sinks bonelessly to the floor.

“Sorry,” Patrick says with a half-smile, wiping come from the corner of Pete’s lips with his thumb. “Didn’t last as long as I wanted to.”

Pete rolls his eyes and sucks the digit clean, dark eyes locked with Patrick’s. “Make it up to me?” he asks, shifting his hips forward.

Patrick’s eyes fall to the outline of Pete’s cock pressing insistently against his work pants. “How long have you been hard?” Patrick asks in wonder.

“Halfway through the first song,” Pete admits, shimmying closer. “Hurts now.”

Patrick rolls his eyes as he pushes Pete’s slacks and boxers down just enough to let his cock spring free. “Idiot. Should have gotten you off first.”

“Wanted you first.”

The first pull of Patrick’s hand is heaven, which he probably figures out by the less-than-dignified noise Pete makes. “More, more, hurry,” Pete begs on the border of incoherency. His hips rock into the motion of those clever, confident fingers. “God, so amazing.”

“Shut up,” Patrick rumbles into his ear, letting his teeth graze over the lobe. “Wanna fuck you when we get home. Gonna have you so hard.”

And damned if that doesn’t make him come hard at the next tug. He pants into Patrick’s shoulder as he recovers, feeling the vibrations of his laugh. “What’s so funny?” Pete asks.

“Our dry cleaner is going to kill us.”

Pete jerks back to look over his suit, sure enough striped with his own come. “Fuck.”

Shrugging, Patrick climbs to his feet and moseys toward the bathroom, his hips taking on that lazy sway they always do after sex. “It’s not like she hasn’t seen it before.”

Pete flops back onto the floor. “Haven’t you heard? Karen isn’t our drycleaner anymore. Replaced her with some dude.”

A conspicuous silence falls between them before Pete hears the sink. “Do you know what happened?” Patrick replies finally, and with no small amount of concern in this voice.

“I don’t know,” Pete answers truthfully. “I think she said something about wanting to be an actress last time I was there. Seemed pretty insistent on it, too. Maybe she went to school.”

“Probably,” Patrick agrees as he steps out with a wet paper towel in hand. “Throw me your pants. I’ll see how much I can get out myself.”

Pete slips his slacks off and tosses them toward Patrick. “The new guy seems nice enough, though,” he assures, though he isn’t sure his husband is paying attention anymore. “Maybe a little overly-cheerful.”

Patrick makes a distant noise from the couch as he wipes down the pants, confirming his suspicion. Pete crawls over and lies against his shins as he works. He always feels better being close to Patrick no matter what he’s doing. He feels like maybe Patrick is his shield, even though he isn’t quite sure why. Maybe it’s because since he met Patrick, his life seemed to stop sucking. There was no more worrying about girls not being able to handle his bullshit or messy breakups. He even stopped missing his dad as much when he spent more time being in love than thinking. His pants eventually drop onto the top of his head when Patrick is finished.

“There. At least now you won’t look like you just walked out of a porno.”

Pete pulls the pants off his head and grins up at him. “Whatever, your mouth always looks like it’s straight from a porno and you don’t see me trying to cover it up. I mean, besides with PDA.”

Said mouth frowns its disapproval. “How about you put your damn pants on so we can get home and I can put my moouth to better use?”

Pete’s never dressed himself faster in his whole life.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Pete is actually vaguely surprised when he wakes up in bed instead of on the floor, or the couch, or wherever else their last round might have ended up being the night before. He suspects the stairs might need cleaning. Waking up in bed is worth it, though, just to wake in Patrick’s arms reeking of sweat and sex and flavored lube. He watches the way Patrick sleeps with his lips parted ever so slightly in a way that draws Pete in with the overwhelming urge to kiss them. He moves to do just that, making his muscles and husband alike groan in protest of his movement.

He kisses Patrick again, waking him further.“Come on, baby. I need a shower.”

“You’ve gone to work smelling like worse,” Patrick argues sleepily.

“I seriously hope not,” Pete chuckles. “Come on, shower with me. I’ll blow you.”

“Fuck that,” Patrick says, rolling over and snuggling into the pillow. “I don’t have to be up at the asscrack of dawn. I’m sleeping.”

Pete sits up to kiss just under his ear. “Suit yourself.”

By the time he leaves the shower, however, the bed is empty and the smell of pancakes drifts up the stairs. He dresses haphazardly and makes his way to the kitchen, pausing to admire Patrick in his loose pajama pants and no shirt, hair still defying gravity. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was, but some asshole woke me up.”

“And now you’re making this asshole breakfast?” Pete asks smugly, slipping his arms around Patrick’s waist.

“Who says it’s for you?” Patrick huffs, wiggling out of his hug. “This is for me. You can make your own damn breakfast.”

“No love,” Pete sighs. He starts to turn toward the fridge, but something gives him pause. “Patrick, what time is it?”

“A quarter past seven,” Patrick replies, his eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

Pete gestures toward the window and the pitch blackness outside. “How is it still dark?”

There’s a long silence as Patrick blinks at him, like he’s grappling for words. “I don’t know,” he says at last. “Probably a… an eclipse?”

“Shouldn’t we have known about that?” Pete asks, face nearly pressed to the window as he tries to peer outside.

No answer comes forth, but Patrick’s arms wind around his waist and pull him back. “Come on, your breakfast is going to get cold.”

Pete doesn’t try to stop his smug smile from reappearing. “Ah, so it was for me.”

“Yeah, well, turns out I care about you,” Patrick says, resting his chin on Pete’s shoulder. “Even though you’re still an asshole for waking me up.”

Pete breaks free of his arms, then turns around to tug Patrick back toward him by the elastic of his sweats. “Can I at least tell you how gorgeous you look all debauched and cooking for me?”

There was a time when words like that would make Patrick squirm and bring a lovely color to his cheeks, but now he just leers right back. “Almost as good as you’ll look squirming in that chair while you eat?”

The gap between them closes as Pete drags him in for a heated kiss. “Bet you’d love to watch me explain to Brendon why I’m walking funny. He probably thinks you abuse me.”

“Nah, he’s probably jealous of our amazing sex.”

Patrick’s hands squeeze at Pete’s hips, the touch nearly making him miss the way Patrick’s eyes dart toward the window. When Pete turns to follow his gaze, he finds the morning light streaming in. “Hey, the sun’s back.”

“Looks like.” Patrick smacks his ass on his way back to the stove. “Now hurry up and eat. You don’t want to be late.”

Pete wolfs down his breakfast before running back upstairs to finish dressing. He gets ready with just enough time to plant a goodbye kiss on his husband’s syrupy lips before he heads out the door and off to work. The roads are surprisingly bare for rush hour, but, as people start to trickle onto the road, he figures they must have been as thrown off by the eclipse as he was. As a result, the office is quiet when he arrives, the only sound being Brendon chattering with someone on the phone. As he approaches his office, he tries to piece together the conversation.

“They really should be more careful,” Brendon is saying. “Can you imagine what could have happened if Patrick hadn’t improvised like a champ? The whole thing could have been— Oh, hey, Pete! You’re early.” The intern slams down the phone without saying goodbye. “Did you see the eclipse this morning? Full solar! Wild, right?”

“Right,” Pete deadpans. “Were you just talking about my husband?”

Brendon pales. “Uh, yes?” He nods hard. “Yes,” he says again, more confidently. “I hung with him at his set last week.” Right, the one Pete had to miss for his meeting. “Super nice dude. How’d you land someone like that?”

“I have no idea,” Pete says honestly, though something still sounds off. “Well, maybe next time we can go to his set together.”

Brendon wrinkles his nose. “And watch you slobber all over him? No thank you.”

“Hey, I don’t slobber,” Pete says, crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry,” the intern laughs. “I forgot, the proper term is ‘mooning.’ Silly me.”

“Whatever. You’re just jealous that my husband is sexy as fuck.”

“Like I said, I have no idea how you landed him,” Brendon jabs.

“Neither do I,” Pete reaffirms. “Now get to work.”

Brendon salutes as Pete slips into his office, trying not to think about the morning’s strange happenings.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Patrick is on the phone when Pete comes home. He knows he shouldn’t feel suspicious, but Gabe is the only one they really talk to and he’s working. Besides, after everything... Pete sneaks closer to the living room to listen in.

“No, I did not. I realize— Yes, I get that. Look, I tried to contain it as best I could, but if you hadn’t fucked things up, I wouldn’t have had to.” There’s a silence as whoever it is on the other line speaks, and Patrick turns on his heel like he’s about to start pacing like a hungry wolf, but he spots Pete before he starts. He doesn’t look surprised or even startled to see him there, instead mouthing “hey, Pete,” before turning his attention back to the phone. “Yes, I understand. Thank you. Bye.” He stabs the ‘end’ button with a scowl. “Manager of the club,” he offers as an explanation.

“Some shit go down at your show last week?” Pete asks. “I overheard Brendon talking about something similar.”

“Yeah,” Patrick sighs, flopping onto the couch. “Some drunk asshole got past security and onto the stage. I had to talk him down before the bouncers got to him.”

“Wow, I’m sorry I missed it,” Pete chuckles.

“Wish I’d missed it,” Patrick grumps.

“I’m sure it wasn’t so bad.” Patrick turns a glare on him and he laughs. Pete moves to sit next to his husband, trying to pick his next words carefully. “So, I was dicking around on the internet at work,” he mentions casually, “and it turns out that a full solar eclipse wasn’t due for another couple years.” He watches Patrick’s face for any reaction, but all he gets is a vaguely interested hum.

“Weird.”

“More than weird,” Pete insists. “That would mean the whole lunar cycle is all wrong.”

“Should we report that to the solar system customer service?” Patrick asks dryly.

Pete throws his hands up, verging on hysterics. “This honestly doesn’t strike you as weird? Am I the only one that finds this even a little off?”

“It does, but I’m not exactly an expert on eclipses,” Patrick points out. “I’m really not sure what you expect from me in this conversation.”

Pete rubs his hands over his face vigorously to clear his head. “Right. You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ve just… It’s been a strange day.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Patrick’s hand slides over his back as he presses kisses to his jaw. “I get it. Work’s rough.” He throws a nip in with his kisses. “You just need a way to work it off, I bet.”

Pete shockingly does not jump at the offer like he usually would – well, his dick does, but he likes to think he’s getting better at not thinking with it – and instead just sighs. “I think we need a vacation.”

Patrick stiffens. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Pete says, turning his whole body toward his husband. “How about this: How long has it been since our last vacation together?”

“Uh… never?”

Pete bounces in his seat. “Exactly! We’ve been married almost five years and we’ve never had a real honeymoon. That’s just sad and unromantic.”

Patrick rolls his eyes lightheartedly. “When have we ever needed romance, Pete? I’m going to love you just as much here as I am anywhere else in the world.”

“But don’t you want to see the sights?” Pete pushes, seeing a slight crack in his husband’s defenses. “Paris? Egypt? China? It’s not like we can’t afford it.”

“I’ll think about it,” Patrick says, his face softening a bit. “Speaking of things we can afford…” He leans over to fish something out of the coffee table drawer. “Something came in the mail the other day and I want to see what you think.”

Pete eyes the paper he pulls out with suspicion. “What kind of something?”

“See for yourself.”

He takes the pamphlet Patrick hands him and looks it over, his heart stuttering when he reads the return address written at the top: Loving Heart Adoption Agency. “Kids,” he finally forces out. “You want kids.” Of course Patrick wants kids. Patrick loves kids. It’s far too natural to picture him as a parent, singing babies to sleep, packing lunches, bandaging scraped knees with kisses just for good measure. He’d be an amazing father. Pete, on the other hand… Well, he isn’t so sure.

When he finally looks back up, Patrick seems to be doing his best impression of a guilty puppy. “I just thought maybe it’s something we’d be ready for. We’re more than capable of supporting one, and you’d even get home in time to pick them up from school.”

Pete flips it over, only to find the return address on the back. “That’s… kind of a huge responsibility,” he points out lamely. Patrick knows that. He’s probably been thinking about it and planning for months and just now got the courage to bring it up. But god, it’s just so big…

“You’re a big boy now; I think you can handle a little responsibility,” Patrick jokes in a half-attempt to lighten the mood. “You don’t even have to decide now. They only sent us the information I requested so there’s no obligation to even follow up.” Tentative fingers brush over the back of Pete’s hand. “Just think about it, okay?”

“I will,” Pete assures, taking Patrick’s hand into his. “I know you’d make a great dad, but I don’t want to jump into this and find out we made the wrong choice. We can’t undo parenthood.”

“I know,” Patrick agrees, scooting in and kissing Pete. “Thanks for not freaking out.”

Pete’s laugh is a little more strained than he intends. “I actually kind of am, but I’m trying not to for you.”

“Then I appreciate the effort,” Patrick says sincerely, squeezing Pete’s hand.

They stay in silence for a moment, enjoying each other’s company as the sun fades away through the huge picture window.  After a while, Pete squirms. “Now, about that stress you offered to work off…”

Patrick snorts and elbows him in the ribs. “And you claim to want romance. Enjoy the moment.”

“I’d enjoy it more if I were fucking you.”

The put-upon sigh is all the approval Pete needs to propel his husband to the bedroom, turning off all the lights behind them. He suspects they won’t be needing them until morning.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

“He wants kids?”

Pete nods, staring down the neck of his beer bottle just to avoid looking at Gabe. “Yeah, he said so last night.”

Gabe hums into his next drink, sounding more pleasantly surprised than Pete expected. When he sees Pete’s face, however, Gabe’s tone softens. “You don’t look too thrilled about it. What’s up? I thought you’d be all over that.”

“So did I,” Pete admits, taking a quick swig before he continues. “I just… I don’t know. I know Patrick would be a great dad, but I feel too… damaged to be the same. No, not damaged. You know when we were kids and we’d burn ants on the sidewalk with a magnifying glass?” He feels Gabe’s slow nod more than he sees it. “It’s like I’ve stopped being the kid and now I’m the ant, and I want to stop burning, but I bring everyone to under the glass with me. It’s fine when it’s you or Patrick because you’re used to the burning, but I can’t bring a kid under the glass. It wouldn’t be right.”

When he finally looks at Gabe, he’s frowning. “So you’re just going to keep burning Patrick?”

Pete winces. “Until he gets the good sense to leave me, I guess.”

“What you don’t understand about Patrick,” Gabe starts, popping open another bottle, “is that he knows that if you didn’t share your burning with someone, you’d probably die under the glass. He’d happily take the pain to keep you safe.”

“Can we drop the burning metaphor?” Pete asks weakly, trying not to let his mind wander that way. Flashbacks to his father’s death are the last things he needs right now.

“Right. Sorry.”

They sit in silence through the last of their six-pack, watching the waves of the lake lick against the dock. Occasionally, they swell high enough to graze Pete’s shoe, but they don’t leave him with more than a dripping sole. He almost wishes the waves were higher so he could jump in and feel them crash over him. He wants to know what it’s like to be overtaken by the waves and pulled out onto the water, going wherever the tides take him.

“If I didn’t have to drive, I’d jump in,” Pete confides. He likes to think Gabe understands the complexities of his thoughts, even when he explains them so poorly. “Almost feel like drowning.”

He probably doesn’t, though, seeing that he only replies, “You just want Patrick to give you CPR.”

“He’d be more likely to kick my ass and throw me back in.”

“I don’t think so,” Gabe says. “Kick your ass, maybe, but it turns out he likes you too much to let you drown. Trust me, I checked.”

“Sure you did,” Pete says dryly, tossing his empty bottle toward a trash can. It grazes the rim, but it falls in.

“I did,” Gabe insists, startling Pete with his sincerity. “I did with pretty much everyone you dated.”

“You did?” Sometimes Gabe can be such a joker that Pete often forgets that he’s actually a great friend.

Gabe shrugs like it isn’t a big deal. “Someone had to. Did you know Patrick was the only one that didn’t swear up and down that he loved you more than anything? He knew ‘love’ was a word too important to you to throw it around lightly. That’s how I knew he cared more about you than he did about being with you. If that makes any sense.”

Pete manages to kick the next wave, soaking his socks. “Sort of.”

Gabe grunts as he stands, stretching out his limbs when he’s upright. “Let’s get out of here. It’s getting late.”

“It’s not even midnight yet,” Pete points out. “You’re never in bed before three.”

“That’s because I don’t have a Misses waiting on me,” Gabe says, kicking Pete playfully in the hip. “Or a real job that requires a sleeping schedule.”

Pete gets up with a smile. “I’d like to see you call Patrick a Misses to his face.”

“You just like seeing me get beaten up.”

“Guilty.”

“Asshole.” Gabe slips into his car and rolls down the window. “Next week, same time?”

“As always.”

They pull out and go their separate ways and by the time Pete pulls up to his driveway, it’s already midnight. It barely surprises him when the house is dark as he creeps through, hoping not to wake Patrick. His effort is all for naught when he crawls into bed and jostles him awake with a protesting noise.

“Sorry, babe,” Pete whispers, pulling his husband to his chest.

“S’okay,” Patrick slurs tiredly. “How’s Gabe?”

“Same as every week. Go back to sleep.”

Patrick hums and nuzzles into Pete’s chest. It always makes Pete’s heart flutter no matter how many times he does it. “Love you,” Pete murmurs into the dark. They don’t say it a lot, probably because they rarely feel it needs to be said, but every time he does he feels his stomach tighten like this time Patrick won’t say it back.

Sure enough, though, the words “Love you, too” drift sleepily from his chest just before Patrick goes slack against him, sounding just as sincere as always.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other night,” Patrick says when they’re lying in bed the next evening. He’s kind of sprawled naked across the sheets in a rare display of shamelessness.

Pete’s silent for a long moment as he thinks it over, playing with the ends of Patrick’s hair. “Which thing?” He says a lot of things, most of which get him in trouble at some point.

“The vacation thing,” says Patrick as he wrings his hands a little. “I thought about it, and you deserve a break. I know you’ve been frustrated with work and I’ve put a lot pressure on you lately…”

Pete shakes his head hard. “Patrick, stop. You haven’t put any pressure on me.”

“No, please listen,” Patrick begs, his tone surprising Pete. He was rarely this earnest unless it was really important. “I need you to go to the travel agency tomorrow right before you go to work. I need you to promise me you’ll go, please.”

Pete eyebrows knit together. “Sure, I promise. Patrick, is there something wrong? You seem a little on edge.”

Patrick waves off his concern like it’s nothing, but his eyes dart too much for Pete to believe it. “Don’t worry about it, just promise me you’ll go, and don’t mention it to anyone.”

Don’t mention it to anyone? Pete felt like he was in a movie, as if they needed to get out of town because Patrick murdered a local mafia boss or something. “What on earth…” He’s cut off when Patrick presses a finger firmly against his lips. Pete frowns behind the digit.

“Don’t worry about it; I just don’t want other people bothering us while we’re relaxing on vacation.”

Something in Pete’s gut doesn’t believe him, but he lets go without further argument. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Patrick kisses him softly. “Thank you. Now get some rest.” He pulls the covers up, concealing his still-bare body from Pete’s gaze. “You still have work tomorrow.”

Pete sighs and lies back against the pillow. The feeling that something’s not quite right gnaws at him, but he rolls over and tries to forget about it. He trusts Patrick, and if anything were wrong he knows without a doubt that if he needed to know, Patrick would tell him.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Pete forgets about the whole situation next morning, enough that he forgets to go to the travel agency completely until midway through the day. He finally finds himself there on his lunch break, though he gets the distinct feeling that he’s not supposed to be there, and he’s not quite sure why.

A bell tinkles as he walks in the door and he is greeted by dozens of colorful posters depicting tropical paradises and snowy ski slopes alike. The woman at the desk smiles brightly and turns to greet him. “Hello and welcome to—” When her eyes meet his face, her friendly smile turns to a look of horror. “Oh.”

The out-of-place feeling takes a deeper root in Pete’s stomach. “Oh, what?”

The woman seems to catch herself and plasters on a smile. “Oh, nothing. We just weren’t expecting many customers so soon after… Well, you know.”

“What exactly do I know?” Pete asked, becoming increasingly anxious about the waifish woman’s suspicious attitude.

Her hand flies to her chest in an overdramatic manner. “You didn’t hear? The eruption! Volcanic ash has been grounding planes for weeks!”

“My friend Gabe just got home from Japan a week ago.”

The blood drains from her face a split second before she laughs nervously. “Oh, those skies are clear, of course.”

“Then we’ll go there,” Pete decides. Patrick adores sushi, plus there are plenty of beaches around to relax on and a beautiful city to explore. It sounds perfect.

“No.”

“No?” Pete parrots incredulously. “Why no?”

“I’m sorry, we’re closed,” she stammers, propelling Pete toward the door. “Please come back tomorrow.”

“But you don’t close until—” His protest is cut short as the door slams in his face. “—seven.”

Okay, he decides, there is definitely something wrong. His fear is only confirmed when there is a for sale sign in the window of the agency the next morning.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

“I don’t get it,” he tells Gabe on the phone as he drives home from work. They’re supposed to meet up later that night, but he honestly doesn’t feel up to it. “It’s like every time I try to plan a trip, I get shot down.”

“Maybe it’s just not in the cards, man.” He sounds way more relaxed than Pete thinks he should. “Maybe you should go on a picnic or something instead.”

“I want to do this, though,” sighs Pete forlornly. “For Patrick, if nothing else. He seems to really want this.”

Gabe takes a suspiciously long time to reply. “He does?”

“He’s the one that keeps telling me to plan the trip,” Pete says, nodding although Gabe can’t see him. “I mean, he was really nervous when he brought it up, which is weird, but he seemed pretty adamant about it.”

An even longer silence stretches between them, so much that Pete checks the phone to make sure they haven’t been disconnected. “What makes you think he’s so nervous?” Gabe asks, finally.

“I don’t know,” Pete confides. “He told me not to tell anyone about it, which just isn’t like him.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, man,” Gabe sighs. “Are we still doing our thing tonight? I bought beer and everything.”

Pete rubs at his face, groaning a little. “I don’t know, probably not today. I have… paperwork to do and stuff.”

If Gabe senses his bullshit, he doesn’t call him on it. “All right, more beer for me, then. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Will do,” Pete assures. “Later.”

“Bye.”

Pete takes a moment in the driveway to collect himself before he enters his house, opening the door to Patrick singing softly to himself as he loads the dishwasher. Pete sneaks in behind him and kisses his neck as he always does. “You’re perfect when you sing, you know that?”

“You say I’m perfect all the time,” Patrick accuses, leaning back against him. “I don’t know if I believe you. Didn’t you have a thing with Gabe? I thought you be home later.”

Pete shrugs, releasing his anxiety in kisses on Patrick’s shoulder. “I just had a feeling I should spend the night with you.”

Patrick turns to give Pete a look that’s almost pitying. “You really should take time to be with your friends.”

Pete presses his lips together as he struggles to verbalize what has been troubling him since the ill-timed eclipse. “I just … have this feeling that something’s been going on, and I feel like you’re the only one I can trust.”

Pain flickers briefly across Patrick’s face, then, without a word, he plans a hand on Pete’s chest as though he’s going to push him away. Instead he leans in, pressing a button on Pete’s jacket painfully into his chest. “Something has always been going on. Keep looking.” Without another word, he turns back to the dishes, humming to himself like nothing had happened at all.

“Patrick, what…?”

Patrick gives him a look like he’s the one being confusing. “I just asked what you wanted for dinner.”

“What? No, you didn’t.” Patrick gives him his drop it look, and no, that’s not going to fly. “Seriously Patrick, what the fuck?”

“I’m only asking just in case I needed to run to get groceries,” says Patrick as he crosses his arms defensively. “I wasn’t planning on cooking for two tonight.”

“I don’t fucking care about dinner!” Pete yells slightly louder than he intends to, so he just flails a hand at him. “You know what, don’t bother. I’m going out. Don’t wait up.”

Patrick’s protests bounce off his back as he leaves, climbing into his car and just driving.The sinking feeling in his stomach goes deeper and deeper every yard he drives away from home. What’s going on around here? Why is everyone acting so strangely? Patrick had always been his haven from that sort of thing, but now he’s being just as bad.

The familiar soft red glow of neon lights welcome him as he pulls into an old haunt of his from back in college: a small, 50’s-style diner that’s been around since Pete was a baby. He doesn’t greet the waitstaff like he used to, instead sliding into a booth in silence.

The waitress that approaches his table is a willowy old woman that Pete is pretty sure was born working there. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you Pete, darlin’. Is somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?”

An involuntary smile crosses his face. He’s missed hearing her voice, though he hadn’t known until just now. “It’s good to see you, Dee. It’s just… Nothing seems to make sense lately.”

She gracefully pulls a pen from her apron. “How about I get you a milkshake on the house, then? That can be the thing that makes sense.”

The grin on his face only gets wider. “You’re an angel, Dee. Could I get a cheeseburger while you’re at it? I’ll pay for that one.”

“Sure thing, darlin’,” she says as she scribbles down the order. “How’s your husband doin’? Haven’t seen him ‘round here much either since we did away with open mic night.”

Pete picks at a tear in the vinyl seat. “He’s… fine. He’s developed quite a fanbase since he started playing at the clubs downtown.”

Dee’s motherly instincts see past Pete’s neat dodges. “Oh, sweetie, you’re not fightin’, are you?”

Pete makes a vague dismissive gesture. “Not really. I just overreacted to something he said. Don’t worry about it.”

He can feel Dee’s concerned look more than he sees it. “Alright, well, let me know if you wanna talk about it. I’ll go get your burger.”

Pete’s meal passes in relative silence, broken only by brief chats with Dee and the busboy that used to go to his high school. By the time he finally leaves, the uneasy feeling has mostly gone, reduced to a vague heaviness in his chest.

It lasts about as long as it takes for him to spot the smoke rising over his neighborhood. Not just his neighborhood, he realizes as panic fills him, his street. His… house? Flashes of memories flood him: a pair of strong arms restraining him, the heavy scent of smoke, the rawness of his throat as he screams. “My dad’s in there! My dad’s in there! Help him!”

He comes to hyperventilating, slowly coming to realize he’s stopped in the middle of the road. Slamming on the gas pedal, he speeds home only to see his worst fear realized. Firefighters had already arrived and were frantically dousing the blackened remains of the only real home he felt he ever had. Nowhere among the spectators was the partner he shares it with.

He leaps from his car, already in mid-scream. “Patrick! Where’s Patrick?” The EMTs rush in to restrain him when he charges toward the house. “Where is he? Where’s my husband?” The look the woman holding his wrist gives him makes his heart drop. “Where is he?” he asks again, quieter this time.

“We have to wait until the fire is out to search for remains.”

Pavement scrapes Pete’s knees as he collapses. He’s vaguely aware that he’s screaming or crying, or some shattered combination of the two. No. Not like this. Not again. Not like… There’s an audible crack just before the house collapses on itself and hands are pulling him to his feet. His tear-muddled vision makes out a shape that might be Gabe, so he leans his whole weight on him as he pulls Pete into his car and leaves the remains of his whole world behind.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Pete’s mother’s house has always been impeccably clean. Clinically so. The gleaming floors, spotless windows and furniture without a trace of dust made the whole house feel like a hospital. Back when he and Patrick started dating, Patrick confided that he was scared to even sneeze lest his mother launch into a cleaning frenzy. Back then, the comment had made him laugh and Patrick had smiled - the smile he used when he was happy to see Pete happy. Now just the memory of it leaves a gaping hole in Pete, a vacuum of displaced matter where Patrick used to be. Or maybe it was like this house; soulless, spotless, fragile. Lacking the lived-in feeling that manifests when someone wiggles deep into your bones and stays there. It’s too hollow now, like any disturbance would send everything crashing down.

Accordingly, everyone tiptoed around him as if they felt it too. Like his fragile state was a suit of thorny armor. At first he was thankful for it, but at the same time the wide berth they gave him was driving him insane. No one talked about Patrick. No one even hinted at him. Even when Pete brought him up, some would change the subject or dance around it. It was almost as if he never existed to them, while Pete still expected to see him around every corner. Always expected to wake up next to him like the last week had only been a horrible dream. He wants to talk as much as he doesn’t, but he mostly just wants everyone to stop ignoring him, so he decides to corner his mother the only way he knows how.

“How long did it take?” Pete asks over dinner one day. “You know, getting over dad?”

His mother turns a sympathetic look on him. “Oh, honey,” she sighs. “I think about him every day. You know that it’s not as simple as getting over it.”

“I just want it to stop hurting,” Pete mumbles, prodding at his bacon.

She lays her fork down on her plate with a soft clink and shakes her head sadly. “It doesn’t stop. Not in the way you think. It’s almost like a bruise that never goes away. The initial pain is always the worst, but you eventually learn to live through the hurt.” She touches the back of his hand lightly. “Sometimes I see something he would like or something will happen with you and it will hurt all over again. When you married Patrick, all I could think was ‘I wish he were here to see this.’”

Pete sets his fork down as well. “It’s just… I wish I had time to work it out with him. We had a fight before the… the fire. I walked out on him. He probably died thinking I hated him.”

His mother shakes her head again. “He knew how much you loved him, dear. I just know he died adoring you as much as he always did, and I know he knew you felt the same. That’s just the way he was.”

The thought hangs on Pete’s shoulders, hunching him over as tears sting in his eyes. “Did he ever tell you he wanted babies?” He chokes on his own shattered voice. “He would’ve been a perfect father, but now he’ll never get them.” Pete shoves his plate away, nearly knocking it onto the floor. “I should’ve stayed with him. I should have run into that fucking fire and died with him.”

“Don’t say that,” his mother scolds. “Do you think that he would’ve wanted that for you? He would have wanted you to live your life.”

“Don’t pretend you know a damn thing about what he wanted!” Pete roars, jerking his hand from under hers.

He could feel himself teeter on the brink of tears, so before she can reply, Pete storms out of the house. He wanders the streets in the neighborhood absently, trying to calm himself. What had Patrick wanted? Up until recently, he thought he knew. Things got confusing between them, and he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t want a vacation, then he did. He said nothing was wrong, and then he said there was. After the fire, Pete’s mafia theory didn’t sound as crazy as he wanted it to.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, he winds up on his old doorstep, staring at the wreckage of his home. The charred skeleton of the building is taped off where the structure is unstable, but he worms past it into what’s left of the living room. The EMTs had told him that that’s where they found him, buried under debris and ash. Pete sits there, trying to banish the heartbroken pleas Patrick gave him as he walked out the door from his mind.

He wanted to fix it. He tried, but Pete wouldn’t listen. He was so focused on being angry that he didn’t even try to reconcile with him. How could he do that to someone he loved? He doesn’t know when he started crying, but it hits him hard, ripping sobs from his chest like he’d buried them in his own skin. How could he? How could he live with himself?

His hand falls to the floor to brace himself as he tries to wipe away the tracks of tears on his cheeks, landing on a singed piece of paper. He pulls it from under the wreckage to find blackened faces of children staring up at him. Adopt Today are the only words that are readable. Somehow, the tears stop coming as he turns the paper over in his hands. He tucks the paper into the pockets of his hoodie and picks his way back to the front door. He needs to carry on. He will.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

“Are you sure?” Pete’s mother asks for the fourth time that morning.

“Yes, I’m sure,” insists Pete. “I’ve already used up a month’s worth of personal days. I’m honestly shocked they haven’t fired me yet.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand if you need more time. I’ll give your boss a call and–”

“No. You said it yourself: the grieving isn’t going to stop, and neither is my life.” He may as well occupy himself with the one thing he can control.

She frowns, but makes no further protest as Pete shrugs on his suit jacket and heads off to work. He isn’t quite prepared to find Brendon isn’t there when he arrives. Instead, there is a lovely young woman with black hair and red lips sitting where he sat.

“Good morning, Mr. Wentz,” she says as soon as he walks in the door. “Welcome back.”

A frown crosses his face before he can stop it. “Where’s Brendon?”

“Brendon graduated college while you were gone, sir,” she informs him as she organizes papers on her desk. “They hired me as a more permanent secretary. My name is Bebe.”

“Oh.” He’s not sure how he feels about that, but he nods anyway. “Is there anything I need to catch up on?”

“Not at the moment, sir,” she replies. “I’ve taken care of everything. You should take today to reacquaint yourself with your office.”

Normally, he’d tell her to call him Pete, but today he simply thanks her and disappears into his office. He’s not going to pretend he got much done in the hours leading up to lunch time, but it’s comfortable going through the familiar motions until the clock ticks over to his lunch break. He waits until Bebe’s back is turned before he sneaks out the door. He drives to Brendon’s apartment building in lieu of going to the sandwich shop down the street, only to find he isn’t home. A quick glance in the window tells him that the apartment is empty as well.

Why wouldn’t Brendon tell him he was leaving? It seems unlike him. His phone is ringing before he can think too hard on it.

“Hello?”

“Dude, where have you been?” Gabe mock-scolds him. “I haven’t heard from you for over a month.”

“I think I deserved a little time to myself,” Pete says, though he sounds mopeier than he intends to.

His friend is quiet for a beat, then asks, “Do you want to get lunch or something?”

Reluctantly, he agrees, heading back into town to his and Gabe’s normal lunch spot. He’s not sure what he expects of Gabe when he gets there, but a perturbed expression isn’t exactly high on the list. Cautiously, he takes a seat across from him.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

He shrugs off the question. “Don’t worry about me. How’s work?”

“Not bad,” he says slowly, still trying to gauge Gabe’s expression. “I guess they replaced Brendon.”

“Who with?”

Pete shrugs as he tears the corners off of his napkin. “Some girl called Bebe. I guess they’ve given up on interns, because it looks like she’s here to stay.”

Gabe hums in an effort to sound interested. “How do you like her?”

“I don’t know, I’ve just met her,” he replies. “I kind of wish they kept Brendon though.”

For some reason, Gabe seems to relax at that. “Yeah, I liked him too.”

“I didn’t know you knew him,” says Pete, frowning.

Gabe just smiles. “I liked that you liked him. You made him sound like a good friend.”

“He was. I just don’t know why he wouldn’t at least call and tell me he was leaving.”

“He probably just thought that you had enough to deal with,” Gabe assures. It’s not really an answer, but it makes Pete feel better.

They spend the rest of the dinner talking amicably about their last few weeks. Well, it was mostly Gabe talking and Pete listening, but it’s more than they had since the fire. When they part an hour later and Pete heads back to work, he leaves less hollow than he’s felt in a month.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Pete moves into an apartment the next week, despite his mother’s heavy protesting. He’s sure that one more day in the ward-like house would drive him into madness. The place is small, only large enough to fit Pete’s bed and the handful of things he could salvage from the fire: a metal folding chair, a blackened end table, a couple of fake plants and the charred and crumpled remains of certain pamphlet shoved into the bottom of Pete’s dresser drawer.

He thinks he should feel pained looking at it, a ruined reminder of what he could have had, but instead it brings him an odd sort of comfort. After everything they’d been through together, after all the fights and hurtful words and subsequent violent, earth-shaking sex, Patrick had still wanted this. He showed it to Pete and promised him a future, promised they would still be together and watch a child grow with them. It was the only thing that made Pete smile because it meant that maybe, after everything, Patrick died loving Pete the way he loved him.

Pete’s newfound solitude gave him plenty of time to ponder such things, and the brand-new setting diminishes the ghosts of his husband to a near nonexistence. He never saw Patrick sitting on the bed he never slept on, or kicking his feet up on a couch he never saw, or cooking in a kitchen he’s never touched. And Pete, he missed it. The gaping hole in his chest grew deeper, until he could barely remember Patrick’s voice.

Still, his life moved onward, unsympathetic of his plight. At work, Bebe would greet Pete with a soft smile every morning, but he missed leaning up against the desk to absently chatter with his old friend on his break. He barely spoke to his new secretary, but she would slip into his office once in a while, carrying trivial work to lay quietly on Pete’s desk. Occasionally, she would linger silently for a moment before showing herself out.

One evening as he’s leaving, she glances up at him as he locks his office door. “Sir?”

Pete frowns slightly as he turns to her. “Is something wrong?”

“Does something have to be wrong for me to want to talk to you, sir?” The question was innocent enough with just the right amount of snark, like she was testing her boundaries.

“I suppose not,” Pete replies, dropping his keys into his pocket. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well,” she drawls, leaning on her elbows, “it’s come to my attention that we see each other every day, but we barely speak.”

Pete rubs the back of his neck. “Oh. Sorry about that. It’s just… a lot’s going on.”

Bebe arches a sculpted eyebrow. “A lot of work?” She asks dryly.

“Nah, you see my workload.” Pete offers an aborted laugh. “Personal stuff.”

“Bummer,” she says, gathering her stuff as she stands. “How about we go out for a beer and talk about it?”

Pete begins to pick up on what she’s saying and frowns at her. “Are you trying to…?”

“I’m trying to buy you a beer,” she replies coolly, looking unimpressed. “You can take that in any way you choose.”

“Oh,” Pete shifts on his feet. “If you were, I just thought you should know that I’m…”

“Gay?”

“No,” he replies absently, then shakes his head. “I mean, yes. Yes, but no?”

She tilts her hips impatiently at him. “You’re gay but you’re not?”

Pete squirms again. “I married a man, but he’s dead now.” He shocks himself with how little he stumbles over the word, though it still hurts him deeply to say. “Technically I’m bi, but I’m…” He waved a hand vaguely. “Not looking.”

She nods her understanding. “Too soon, then. All right, some other time. We can just talk.”

“Sure,” Pete agrees. “Thanks, though. I really do appreciate the offer.”

Smiling softly at him, she gathers up her things. “I’ll see you Monday, Mr. Wentz.”

“You can call me Pete.”

“Pete.” His name is soft on her lips, reminding him of one of his girlfriends in college.

Before he can return her goodbye, her heels are already clacking loudly on the floor as she retreats toward the elevator.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

For the first time since the funeral, Pete winds up at Patrick’s grave. Sitting cross-legged before the headstone, he takes deep, shallow breaths, inhaling the still night air. Silence stretches on as he leans forward just enough to press his head against the stone.

“Baby,” he whispers finally, “I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but I need to say it. I’m sorry. And I know… I know you don’t care, and I know you still love me, and I wish more than anything that I could hear you say it. I wish I could see you again, even if you’d just punch me and call me an asshole. I wish…”

A teardrop falls from his eye before he realizes he’s crying. He wipes it away, sniffling just to clear his head. “I wish I didn’t have to get over you. I wish I could never have anyone but you. That’s why I married you, you know? So I’d never have to be without you. You made me whole.” He braces a hand next to his head, his skin warming the cold stone. “I’ll never be half the man I was with you ever again.”

Pete presses his lips to the granite lightly before pulling back. “I love you. I never told you enough and I never can, but I always will. There will never be another you.”

The cemetery is deafeningly quiet as he brushes his hand over the headstone one last time. “Good night, baby,” he whispers, then trudges back to his car.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

He takes Bebe up on her beer on Monday. She’s nice enough, and competent, taking to Brendon’s position like a duck to water. Slowly, he begins to fall into the habit of having the over-the-desk chats with her that he used to have with Brendon. Once in a while, she still tosses a flirt his way, but he continues to bat them down until they become few and far between.

“Still not looking?” She teases about a month in. “It’s been a while.”

Pete frowns deeply at her. “You think I should quit mourning my husband so I can go out with you?”

“I think you should loosen up a little,” Bebe corrects. “You haven’t been the same since the fire.”

Pete’s eyes narrow dangerously. “You never knew me before the fire.” Bebe’s jaw works silently as she searches for the answer, but Pete presses her. “In fact, I never even told you about the fire.”

“I talked to others here,” she says defensively. “Word of those things get around.”

“I know when someone is lying to me, Bebe,” Pete challenges. “How did you know?”

“I saw online, okay?” She admits. “I looked it up. I’m sorry.”

Pete is about to call her on her bullshit again when his phone rings, so he instead retreats back into his office to answer.

Before he can say hello, Gabe is already talking. “Pete, I need you to come over. It’s important. I’ll tell you about it when you get here.” Just as fast, he hangs up.

Pete stares at his phone, confused. He’d sounded rushed, almost panicking. Pete leaves the office, breezing past Bebe before she can ask any questions and speeding to Gabe’s house. When he arrives, Gabe is in the driveway and pulling him out of his car.

“Come on, we’re going. We’re leaving,” he says, dragging Pete toward the thick woods behind his house.

His mother had always warned him to stay out of those words, but he never did, going to play with Gabe among the trees until wild animal noises turned them back. This time, when the howls came, Gabe didn’t turn back. He didn’t even pause.

“Gabe, what’s going on?” Pete asks in a panic. “Where are we going?”

Gabe swings around, but instead of answering, he tears a button off of Pete’s shirt. “I’m making sure they can’t get to you.”

“They? Who’s they?” Gabe is really starting to scare him at this point.

It feels as if Gabe is going to dislocate his shoulder as he pulls him closer and closer to the source of the howling. “I don’t have time to explain right now, but you have to trust me. All you need to know is that nothing is real.”

Pete plants his feet, stopping Gabe in his tracks. “Okay, what the fuck? You’re really starting to freak me out. Seriously, what’s happening?”

“Pete, please, I need you to–” The smell of burning begins to fill the air. Gabe curses loudly. “We have to go.”

Tendrils of smoke snake through the trees and suddenly Pete is less confused and more petrified. “Gabe, there’s smoke. The trees are burning! We need to turn back!” Panic rises in his chest, but his friend presses onward. “Gabe!”

He’s vaguely aware that the name comes out as a shriek as he sprints after him. In his terror, Pete stumbles over a branch and twists his ankle further than it’s meant to go, making a loud crack and pain shoot through his entire foot. Pete starts to feel the heat grow around him, so he begins to scream for help.

A pair of hands grab him under the arms and drag him to safety, pulling him further into the woods than he’s ever been. He knows he’s crying, and his heart is beating hard enough that he feels as if it will leap from his chest at any moment.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Gabe murmurs into his ear. “I’m going to get you out of here. I promise, everything will be okay.”

Pete closes his eyes and sees Patrick staring back at him. Will everything be okay? He’s not sure he believes it.

A booming voice echoes all around him, shaking the forest floor. “Stop!”

Gabe’s jaw sets as he shakes his head. “Never.”

“Stop, Gabe,” the voice goes on. “This is his home. His life. You can’t take him away from that.”

“And you’ve ruined it,” Gabe snaps back at it. “Can’t you see that? Can you see that he’s been suffering? I won’t let you do this to him anymore. He’s my friend.”

“What’s happening?” Pete rasps. His entire throat feels like it’s coated in ashes. “Who is he?”

Instead of replying, Gabe points forward. Pete peers in the same direction, expecting to see more smoke, more trees, and more fire, but instead he sees a wall painted to look like the forest goes on forever. When they reach it, Gabe puts one hand against the wall and walks along it, dragging the hand behind him.

“There’s a door here somewhere,” he says confidently. “Help me look for it.”

Pete nods dazedly, leaning all his weight against the wall and hopping along the other way. A door? Why would there be a door? Weren’t they outside? How could the outside have a door? Were they outside? The questions whirl through his head like a hurricane until his hands brush against something colder than the concrete walls he’s shuffling along. Upon closer observation, he finds he’s touching a heavy metal door painted like the rest of the wall, so seamless he could have almost missed it.

“Gabe!”

Gabe is at his side in an instant, wrapping an arm around him to hold him up and hammering his fist into the door. “It’s locked,” he hisses. “Of course it’s fucking locked.” He leans against the wall with a deep sigh. “I guess it was too much to hope for.”

Pete pants as he wipes a hand over his brow. “Gabe what–”

The door next to them open suddenly, cutting him off. Behind it, a baby-faced young man peers at them. Gabe opens the door the rest of the way and shoves Pete through.

Pete stops once he’s inside, his heart slowing to a more normal pace as the door slams behind them. “Gabe, what the fuck? Where am I?”

“Behind the scenes,” Gabe says as if it explains everything. “I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, but everything that you know up until now has been a lie. You were born into it, on a set with fake lights, fake weather, fake everything.”

Pete can’t breathe. Surely he can’t be telling the truth… But what if he was? “How?”

The young man that had opened the door chimes in. “It’s a TV show. Decades ago, someone had an idea to make a TV show of someone’s entire life, so they built this whole town for it. The moment you were born, you became the star. Why do you think you’ve never left town your entire life?”

Pete shakes his head hard in denial. “What about Gabe? What about everyone else?”

“I’m an orphan,” Gabe says seriously. “The producers adopted me for the show so I could live a normal life as your friend. You needed someone to rely on, and I was to be that person. Everyone else were paid actors and actresses meant to populate your world. You were never meant to find out that it was a lie.”

Slumping against the wall, Pete tries to take all this in. “Then why are you telling me this?”

“I’m doing it for Patrick,” Gabe says, reaching out to touch Pete shoulder. “He tried to tell you, but he couldn’t say it outright or they’d… well, you saw what happened. This is what he wanted you to know. He wanted you to live a full life outside of the studio.”

Pete chokes on his next breath. “Patrick…”

Sirens sound outside the building and Gabe pulls them from against the wall. “Let’s get you to the hospital to treat that leg before security comes to stop us.”

Pete nods, letting Gabe lead him through the halls. The young man escorts him, letting out a deep sigh.

“It’s too bad I’m going to get fired for opening that door.”

“Then why did you?” Pete asks him.

The young man looks at him sympathetically. “I understood what they did to you most the time, but once they set that forest on fire, suddenly none of it felt right. You are a person, and they tried to smoke you out like an animal. I couldn’t let you stay in a world where they treat you like that.”

Pete smiles at him. “Thanks, um…”

“Alex.”

“Alex. Thanks, Alex.”

Gabe stops at a set of doors, the sound of hundreds of voices filtering in from the outside. “Damn, they’re outside already. I guess they got the whole thing on camera after all.”

A determined look crosses Alex’s face. “I can escort Pete to the ambulance while you distract the media.”

Gabe nods, then turns to Pete. “They want a statement from you, if you want to give one. What do you want me to say?”

Pete thinks for a moment, then smiles to himself. “Tell them… Tell them my world has just gotten a lot bigger.”

Gabe grins right back at him, then pushes the doors open into the light.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Josie for being my beta and wading through the mess my speech-to-text software left for her in the second half. Any leftover mistakes are mine or belong to Dragon Naturally Speaking 13. ._.
> 
> There is a prequel in the works so keep a look out!


End file.
